CHAPTER 21
“You look fagged.” Hands fisted on his hips, Raven stood in the doorway of the kitchen, Hawk hovering just behind him. “We think we should come with you.”
Charlotte swallowed a mouthful of coffee, willing it to scald the muzziness from her head.
It was early morning, and she had managed only an hour or two of sleep.
Fatigue, she conceded, felt as if it had seeped right into the very marrow of her bones.
Not a good sign when she needed her wits on full alert.
“He’s right,” agreed McClellan as she refilled Charlotte’s cup.
“I’m simply going to fetch a message from Alice the Eel Girl,” Charlotte replied.
“Which means you might need us to inform His Nibs of what it says,” countered Raven. “Or spread the word to our other friends to keep their peepers open for something havey-cavey.”
“It’s a sensible suggestion,” murmured McClellan
A plume of steam rose from the devil-dark brew. “It is,” she replied. So why it stirred a frisson of unease eluded her. But then, she clearly wasn’t thinking straight.
“Very well.” Charlotte quickly finished the last bite of her muffin and rose. The sooner she accomplished the task, the sooner she could crawl back under the covers for some blissful hours of sleep.
Outside, the fog still lingered, the dawn’s gossamer glow doing little to lighten the pewter-grey vapor cloaking the streets. She and the boys moved quickly, wraithlike shapes flitting dark on dark through the chill morning.
Through the windblown mist, the river gleamed like a ribbon of polished steel as they made their way down to the docklands.
The loading areas were just coming to life, the rattle of barrows and the shouts of the stevedores twining with the groaning timbers and the thrumming rigging of the ships tied at the wharves.
Alice the Eel Girl was doing a brisk business selling her still-warm pasties to the workers. Charlotte waited for a pair of blacksmiths to make their purchases and drift away before approaching her.
“Oiy!” Alice’s eyes came alight. She shifted her tray and angled a little deeper into the shadows of the brick warehouse fronting the docks before going on.
“A woman by the name o’ Annie gave me a message fer ye.
I’m te tell ye she’s sorry, an’ that she expects ye’ll get the answer ye want soon enuff. ”
Charlotte huffed in frustration. Damnation! What the devil did that mean? They didn’t have time to spin in circles.
Alice, however, still had the odd gleam in her eyes. “I figgered ye were expecting something more, so I waited a bit and then followed her.”
Oh, you clever, clever girl, thought Charlotte. “And did you discover her hidey-hole?”
The girl’s face fell. “Naw. Up near Ratcliff Highway, a fancy gennelmun stopped her, and after a bit o’ chin-wagging, she got in his carriage and they drove off.”
Mather. Who else could it be but Mather?
“He didn’t force her,” added Alice. “Looked te me like she wuz happy te go wiv him.”
Could it be that the barmaid had betrayed her childhood friend to his cousin? Annie was, by her own admission, struggling to survive in a world that gave no quarter to sentiment.
“Does that help?” asked the girl.
“Yes, it does,” answered Charlotte, all at once unsure of whether she could trust her own judgment, given how easily Annie had humbugged her.
Feeling a little light headed, she handed Alice another coin and looked around for the boys, who had darted off to greet their urchin friends who made a living along the waterfront.
“Confound it,” she muttered. They were nowhere to be seen.
The breeze had freshened, setting the signal flags on a nearby merchant ship to snapping in the swirling air.
She gazed up at the dancing colors strung from the main halyard, noting the private ensign of the East India Company flying from the top of the mainmast. Sailors were already aloft, preparing the furled sails for the journey east. The tide was about to turn.
No doubt, they would soon be casting off the mooring lines.
For an instant, the idea of simply sailing away from all the frightening conundrums teased at her consciousness. The vast ocean, Charlotte knew from experience, had a way of simplifying the world. It stripped away all artifice, leaving only the purely elemental forces of Nature.
Lifting her chin, she watched the clouds scud through the muddled sky, and found her momentary doubts flittering off into the gloom. Strangely enough, a simple world held no allure. It would mean leaving all she loved . . .
“Oiy, oiy!” The sounds of Raven and Hawk larking through one of the alleyways cut through her thoughts. As the boys broke free of the shadows, they waved.
Hunching her shoulders, she let out a low whistle in reply, just another urchin intent on joining in with a raggle-taggle band of friends.
It wasn’t until they were well away from the wharves and hidden in the confines of a narrow passageway between warehouses that Raven spun around and drew in a quick breath.
“M’lady, m’lady, we just saw one of the dastards! I’m sure of it!”
* * *
Sheffield accepted a cup of coffee from Tyler and slouched back in his seat. “Now what are we going to do? Mather was our only link to learning the identities of the ringleaders.”
“There’s never just one way to skin a snake,” replied Wrexford. “You forget that Lady Cordelia has seen the Cobra. And while she mentioned he swathed his face in black silk, she may have noticed other things about him that will prove useful.”
“Hmmm.” Sheffield puffed out his cheeks. “I see I have a great deal to learn about how to conduct clandestine investigations.”
“Don’t worry,” quipped Tyler, setting a plate heaped with breakfast on the side table by Sheffield’s armchair. “Your mind will soon be working along the same devious lines as ours.”
There was a momentary clatter of cutlery. “So, what do we do next?” asked Sheffield through a mouthful of shirred eggs.
“I suggest we leave the matter of the Cobra until this evening, when Lady Cordelia comes to work on the daily mathematical computations with the professor,” said Wrexford.
It had been decided that Sudler and his Engine should be kept hidden from the consortium, so they had been installed in a downstairs workroom of the earl’s townhouse, next to the kitchens.
Cordelia and her brother had returned to their own residence.
Given her experience in masquerading as a man, she slipped out each night after dark and made her way through the alleyways to the back gate of the earl’s garden.
“Speaking of which,” muttered Sheffield, “what if the dastards have Woodbridge’s townhouse under surveillance? Shouldn’t we worry about whether she’s being followed?”
“We’ve thought of that,” offered Tyler. “Raven and Hawk have their band of urchins keeping watch on whether there are predators on the prowl.”
Sheffield chewed thoughtfully on a piece of gammon, then suddenly sat up straighter. “What about Fenwick Alston?”
“Tyler was right,” drawled Wrexford. “You’re beginning to understand the art of sleuthing.”
“Ha!” His friend made a face. “I won’t consider myself anything but a callow novice until I can earn praise from the Weasels.”
“Fetch your hat and coat,” said the earl. “As it happens, we’re going to pay a call now on the current baronet. Sir Joseph passed away several years ago. His eldest son, Bentley, inherited the title.”
“But it’s not yet noon,” protested Sheffield, darting a longing look at his untouched muffins. “The butler won’t admit visitors at such an ungodly hour.”
“Yes, but Sir Bentley has his weekly fencing lesson this morning at Angelo’s Academy.” Wrexford rose. “And with the great Harry Angelo himself, so he’ll be there.”
They made the short walk to Bond Street and entered the academy.
The earthy scent of sweat and masculine musk wafted through the air as they crossed the foyer and paused in the doorway leading to the fencing salons.
The cavernous main room echoed with the ring of clashing steel and the huffed snorts of male exertion.
“No, no, no!” A slender gentleman, his hair drawn back from his high forehead in an old-fashioned queue, danced to a halt and waggled his rapier. “You must hold your hand higher and balance on the balls of your feet.” He demonstrated the move with a cat-like quickness. “Like so!”
His pupil blinked and dabbed a soaked shirtsleeve to his brow.
“Now try it by yourself, slowly, and repeat it several times.”
“You’re a hard taskmaster, Harry,” called Wrexford as the legendary fencing master stepped back from the center of the room.
“Ah, Wrexford.” Henry Charles Angelo cut a quick flourish through the air with his blade.
“You must come around for a session with me soon, so my students can see a good example of a swordsman who understands the principles of control and precision.” He cocked his brow.
“I trust your skills have stayed sharp, milord?”
“Scientific experimentation demands precision,” the earl answered. “I try to keep myself honed to a razor’s edge.”
“Excellent! As I said, this gentleman here would benefit from seeing some proper swordplay.” Angelo grinned before turning back to his panting student.
“That’s enough for today, Sir Bentley. Try to practice your footwork for our next session.
” He patted his flat abdomen and added, “Oh, and it appears you’re getting a bit por-tly.
” A chuckle. “So you might consider limiting your intake of wine.”
Sir Bentley’s face turned even redder at the teasing. Shoulders slumping, the baronet blew out his breath and slunk away to towel off in one of the changing salons.
“Don’t take it to heart. Harry isn’t easy to please,” murmured Wrexford as he and Sheffield followed him into the room.